


Wash It All Away

by HallowedNight



Series: Blood and Clay (Nux-Centric Oneshots) [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: (i'm actually not sure how to tag this), Character/Culture Study, M/M, Self-Reflection, generally unstable characters, mild hurt with very little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3973696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedNight/pseuds/HallowedNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nux loved wash day. It had another name, fancy, meant to make the whole process seem like some sort of special ceremony, but the War Boys didn’t really see it that way. It was just wash day, a few minutes under a stream of freezing water to scrape off a month’s worth of sweat, blood, and white war-clay. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash It All Away

**Author's Note:**

> Where did this come from? I have no idea. I like Nux and Slit too much. My little murderous flour-covered children~ -w-
> 
> EDIT: Inkyako on Tumblr drew some awesome art based on this! [Check it out!](http://inkyako.tumblr.com/post/119490875379)
> 
> Also I made a series, 'cause there will be more. Hopefully lots more, and longer stuff. Enjoy~

Nux loved wash day. It had another name, fancy, meant to make the whole process seem like some sort of special ceremony, but the War Boys didn’t really see it that way. It was just wash day, a few minutes under a stream of freezing water to scrape off a month’s worth of sweat, blood, and white war-clay.

Nux imagined that some Boys didn’t like wash day as much as he did. Most Boys didn’t talk about wash day, but the way they stumbled away from the water, shivering and irritated, didn’t make it seem like they enjoyed it. Most Boys hated having their clay removed, for one. It was like stripping away the only identity they knew, leaving them pale and naked and just like all the supposed scum Down Below.

It was that stripping of identity that Nux loved most of all, and why he adored wash day. This particular one was especially welcome; Slit had gotten badly hurt in a skirmish during the last supply run and hadn’t been in the bunks, so Nux had been sleeping horribly and was looking forward to standing under some cold water for a little bit. It was a nice shock to the system and didn’t leave marks like his usual coping mechanisms.

The recent scuffle had done a number on Nux’s car as well, so he spent the afternoon before his wash fixing and tuning it up. He was wonderfully content by the time he was finished, but also covered in grease and bleeding from a few places, so he wasted no time in jogging to the long, downward sloping tunnel to the wash room. He nodded to the guard posted outside before entering the circular, high-ceilinged space and taking a deep breath of the subterranean air. It was a nice room, Nux thought, dark and cool, with smooth walls and a shallow pool in the middle. A small but constant stream of water fell from a series of holes in the ceiling down to a drain in the central depression. Nux wasn’t sure how often the thing was actually used, as all War Boys washed within a week once a month, but he didn’t particularly care.

Kicking his pants and boots to the side of the room, Nux tiptoed to the rivulet of falling water, careful not to slip on the slick stone. He forewent a test of the temperature and ducked under the stream, gasping unconsciously as the freezing water cascaded down his body, sending shivers down his spine. The knots in his back, tight and aching from stress and lack of sleep, slowly began to release their built up tension, leaving a pleasant tingling in their wake.

A slight smile curled Nux’s newly scarred lips as he watched the drain beneath his feet; the water ran white, carrying away layer after layer of confused identities with the steadily dissolving clay. While pain made Nux feel like he was being hollowed, burned to a clean slate, this was more wholesome, like the water was running black with his sins and dragging them to the center of the world to rot. He helped the clay on its way, rubbing himself down almost frantically, fingers shaking ever so slightly. He then tilted his head back, letting the water pummel his face until the guard smacked his metal spear against the stone wall.

“Outcha come, Boy. Yer time’s up.”

Nux almost objected every time he heard those words, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was good, he supposed, that someone was there to force him out of the water. If they didn’t, he would probably stay there till he himself dissolved and flowed down to the bowels of the Earth.

That never happened, though; just like always, Nux shook himself off and picked his way back to his pants, shoving them under one arm and his boots under the other before leaving the room. As his feet dried, he began to pick up speed, eventually sprinting upwards through corridor after shadowy corridor until he finally broke out into brilliant daylight, the beginnings of a lovely, blood-red sunset building on the horizon. He always came to this little outcropping after washing; it was an obsolete guard-post, high on the main spire of Citadel, all but forgotten in the wake of newer constructions. Still naked and damp, Nux flopped onto the warm stone, dangling his legs out into space as he watched the sky.

The water was nice, but this was his favorite part of wash day. For a few hours, he wasn’t a War Boy, he wasn’t a knife wielded by a lofty god; he was just Nux, soaking up the last rays of a dying sun, quietly thinking. It was so, so easy to lose himself in the war-clay, the scars, the battle lust, his brothers parading around him, proud in their warrior ways. Most Boys lost themselves completely, if they were ever really themselves at all. He thought that was probably the point.

Nux was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t register the footsteps behind him until they stopped and a voice took their place.

“Knew you’d be up ‘ere, Nuts.”

Nux’s eyes, previously clouded and distant, suddenly sharpened with glee as he leapt to his feet, wiry muscles bunching to maintain his balance. “Slit! Finally decided t’ show up, eh? And with some upgrades!”

Slit grinned and leaned into the hard embrace Nux offered, knocking his forehead against the other Boy’s before taking Nux’s spot on the edge of the stone shelf. “Yep,” he replied, fingering the strips of metal screwed into his cheekbone. “All new an’ shiny.” Nux sat beside his lancer, knocking their ankles together. He never really noticed how different his natural skin tone was from the stark white of the war-clay; though he was pale, his naked chest was practically brown next to Slit’s newly-painted skin.

“Don’t normally have company up ‘ere,” Nux murmured, reaching up to thumb at the metal on his lancer’s cheek. It was obviously holding something together, though Nux didn’t know that much about anatomy. A line of staples wound their way from the thick bands down to the corner of Slit’s lips, scabs and mottled bruising barely visible under the metal and clay.

“Yeah, cuz yer some kind of recluse after washing. Skinny little weirdo.” Slit shook his head. “Whadya do up here anyway? ‘Sides burn you’re eyes out starin’ at that thing?” he asked, gesturing vaguely towards the sun just skimming the horizon.

“I dunno. Jus’ think, I guess.”

Slit’s brow furrowed slightly. “You’re not supposed’a think, Nux. That’s what gets ya in trouble.”

Nux rolled his eyes, breaking the sudden tension by backhanding Slit across the chest. “Just ‘cause you don’ use your brain don’t mean no one else can,” he retorted with a grin, pulling himself away from the ledge before Slit could return the blow.

“Little weasel,” Slit grumbled, pushing himself to his feet and kicking Nux’s pants towards their owner. “Cover up yer skinny ass ‘fore I roast it.”

Nux cackled and saluted jauntily, dodging a poorly-aimed kick as he pulled his pants up to his bony hips. Slit crossed his arms, waiting till Nux yanked his boots on and turned around before thumping him between the shoulder blades. Nux stumbled forward, nearly knocking his head on a spit of rock, but quickly retaliated by sweeping the lancer’s legs out from beneath him.

“You’re getting’ slow, ol’ man,” he sing-songed, offering Slit a hand which was promptly slapped away.

“I’m like three moons older than you,” Slit protested long-sufferingly before twisting to his feet. “Hurry up and get painted, weasel, I wanna get ta bed. Haven’t- Haven’t been sleepin’ good.”

“Me neither,” Nux admitted, bumping his shoulder against Slit’s half-heartedly.

“Eh. We wasn’t made for sleepin’ anyways.”


End file.
